


Under Pressure

by Silent_So_Long



Series: trope_bingo round five [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard, Paul and a spot of low water pressure</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “bets/wagers’ square of my trope bingo card. This was also inspired by something that recently happened to me, in that there was low water pressure where I live, so low that we had no water at all coming through the pipes in my house. (which is not so good when I had to take a shower before I went to work. I had to do exactly what Richard does in this story, although sadly I did not have Paul to help me out. I could only wish for that scenario ... )
> 
> Plus, I referenced a Queen song for the title. Yiss.

“Ah, well, fuck,” Richard cursed, loudly enough to pierce through the closed bathroom door. 

Paul looked up from the book he was reading, a puzzled frown upon his face, even as Richard swore again, louder that time and at far greater length.

“Reesh?” Paul called out, once the swearing had abated for a short while. 

There was a brief, yet weighted, silence on the other side of the bathroom door, before Richard spoke, his voice a little recalcitrant. 

“What?” Richard said, and it sounded very much like the other man was pouting and that almost made Paul laugh.

Richard always did look cute when he pouted, which Richard himself was all too aware of, often getting Paul to do all manner of things with just one suggestive little pucker of his lips. 

“What’s going on? What caused the swearing fit?” Paul asked, as he finally slipped his bookmark in between the pages of his book to keep his place. 

“I’m not swearing,” Richard replied, finally deigning to open the door to scowl out at Paul.,

“Who else have you got in there with you, then, that is swearing? Hmmm?” Paul asked, with one raised, disbelieving eyebrow.

“No one,” Richard replied, and judging by the look on his face, Paul knew that Richard thought the very suggestion a complete absurdity. 

“Well then, that must leave you then,” Paul surmised, a clear smirk curving the softness of his lips.

“You’re a fucking smart-arse, Landers,” Richard said, even as he stamped his way out of the small bathroom and out into the hotel room proper. 

Rammstein were currently in the middle of a tour, and their current hotel was one of their least salubrious ones, even if Paul did say so himself, and they’d stayed in some pretty dire places. 

“So what was wrong? You still haven’t told me, you know,” Paul pointed out. 

“We have no water,” Richard said, morosely, as though that was the worst thing ever.

“What d’you mean, there’s no water?” Paul asked, blinking with sudden blank confusion at the other guitarist.

“Exactly what I said. There’s no damn water in the pipes; there’s none in the taps in the basin, none in the shower and the toilet won’t even flush. What kind of shitty hotel is this if there’s no water in the damn pipes?” Richard asked, as he slumped dramatically down upon the bed, almost dislodging Paul onto the floor in the process. 

“Well, perhaps the service reservoir’s having problems,” Paul pointed out. “Or perhaps we‘re higher than the reservoir is and it can‘t cope with the altitude. We are pretty high up in the mountains, Reesh.” 

“Fucking reservoir,” Richard said. “What are you even talking about? How do you know this stuff?” 

“I thought it was common knowledge,” Paul siad, with a shrug. “|Same way that I though t everyone knew that the water pressure’s low whenever everyone's using their hosepipes on the same afternoon.” 

“Hosepipe, my arse,” Richard muttered.

“I .... wish I had a natty comeback for that, Reesh,” Paul said, slowly. “Unless you really want me to make some crack about enemas.” 

“What the fuck? Enemas?” Richard said, as he shot an alarmed look towards Paul.

Paul laughed at that, before he said - “Well, you were the one who mentioned hose-pipes and your arse in the same sentence. Don’t blame me that you made yourself an easy target.”

“Fuck off, Landers,” Richard said, as he threw the nearest pillow at Paul’s head.

Paul deflected the soft missile with swiftly raised hands; his face, when it was revealed again, was laughing. Richard, Paul noted, was also trying to hide a smile and he was largely failing to do so. 

“You love me,” Paul said, confidently.

“Lucky for you that I do,” Richard grumbled darkly. “I let you get away with murder.”

“Highly doubtful, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Paul said. “Now, let’s have a look at this water pipe situation.”

He got up and made his way into the en-suite bathroom, before he fiddled with the taps. He found that the situation was as bad as Richard had already intimated; no water came out of either tap, the shower refused to do anything more than emit a weird dry clicking sound, whilst the toilet spewed forth a series of odd sucking-farting noises when Paul pulled the handle. 

“Well?” Richard asked, with a raised eyebrow when Paul finally made his way back out into the main part of the room. 

“The water pressure's low,” Paul said, gloomily. 

“Told you,” Richard said, triumphantly.

“I dunno why it’s so important, Reesh,” Paul pointed out. “I doubt we’d use the shower in here, anyway. We‘re only staying here one night.”

“I will,” Richard said, defiantly. “I’ve got to wash my hair before we go onstage tonight. Plus what about the morning? We’ll both need one then, if not before.”

Paul raised one eyebrow immediately, before he smirked. 

“Promises, promises, Reesh.,” he said. “I’ll hold you to that, you know. I expect sex tonight, because of what you‘ve just said.” 

“I’ll only agree if you sort the water situation out,” Richard said.

“I can’t do anything about the reservoir, love, but I can sort something else out,” Paul grumbled. “Perhaps we should ask one of the guys, see if they’re having any better luck.” 

Richard grunted, and followed Paul from the room. The first room they knocked at belonged to Olli, who looking sleepy and disheveled when he answered the door, green eyes blinking owlishly at them from where he’d been dozing.

“Ja?” he asked, on the tail-end of a yawn. “Pizza?” 

“What’s that? Pizza?” Richard asked, in sudden horror-filled confusion. 

“Oh, it’s you, Reesh,” Olli said, with a shy smile. “I thought you were the pizza delivery man.”

“Jesus Christ,” Richard said, as beside him, Paul fell into all-consuming deep chuckles. 

“Anyway, why did you find it necessary to wake me up? I was asleep,” Olli said, as he gestured for Paul and for Richard to enter the room. 

“And dreaming of pizza delivery men, apparently. Is your shower working?” Richard asked, coming straight to the point.

“I've been asleep, Richard. I wouldn't know,” Olli pointed out, in sudden confusion. “Why?” 

“Our one’s not working,” Paul said. “Low water pressure.”

He watched as Richard made his way to the bathroom and they both could hear him fiddling with the shower and the taps with much swearing and little luck, if the lack of running water was any indication. Richard, when he emerged from the bathroom, was scowling ever more deeply than he had been in the room that he shared with Paul.

“Any luck?” Paul asked, innocently. 

“What do you think?” Richard grumped. “I’m going to see Flake.”

“Nothing against Flake, Richard, but I doubt that he’d be able to fix my shower,” Olli said, tentatively. “Or yours, for that matter.” 

“I don’t want him to fucking fix it, numb-nuts. I want to see if I can use his,” Richard said, even as he pulled the door to Olli’s room roughly open.

“You leave my nuts out of this,” Olli mumbled, even as he followed curiously in the wake of the other two.

Paul threw a laugh over his shoulder at the taller man, yet Richard remained serious; he was too intent on pounding his knuckles upon Flake’s door. Flake, when he answered, was sleepy-eyed and in general dishabille, clothes and hair askew as though he’d been asleep. When asked about the state of his water pressure, Flake swore at them and slammed the door in Richard’s face. They didn’t have much luck with either Till or Schneider, either. Till merely laughed at them and told them to wash in the sink, whilst Schneider didn’t even seem to be in his room. Richard, completely at a loss as to what to do; he was reduced to standing in the middle of the hotel room corridor with a distressed look upon his face.

“Maybe you should just do as Till said, and wash in the sink,” Paul suggested. 

“I can’t do that,” Richard said, in horror. 

“Why not? It’s either that, or go on stage all sticky and sweaty,” Paul pointed out.

“I can’t do that,” Richard repeated but this time he looked even more horrified than he had before. 

“Your choice, Reesh,” Paul said. 

“I’m betting he won’t,” Olli said, quietly, from behind the swiftly raised cover of his left hand. 

“I’m betting not, either,” Paul agreed. “Listen, Reesh, it’s the same for everyone, you know. We’re all in the same boat. I’ll even prove how easy it is and take first stint at the basin, if you want.” 

“I’m betting I bloody well will do it. You just watch me. How am I gonna do that, anyway?” Richard said. “We’ve got no water, don’t forget.”

“Well, we’ll have to buy bottled water at the supermarket, and heat it in the kettle. We’ve got one in our room, haven’t we?” Paul pointed out, with one raised eyebrow. 

“Actually, that’s quite a good idea,” Olli said, with a huff of sudden laughter. “I’ll gonna do that myself.”

“See, Olli thinks I’m clever,” Paul said, as he tipped a wink up at Olli. 

“That’s pushing it,” Richard muttered. “But I’ll do it, if only to watch you make a fucking mess of yourself in the bathroom.” 

“I won’t,” Paul said, confidently.

Paul didn’t tell Richard, or Olli, that he was no stranger to roughing it at kitchen sinks, having had to do so plenty of times during his Feeling B days. He knew that how effective such ways of cleaning oneself was. 

:::

After a short trip to the nearest supermarket, Paul was in the bathroom, with a half a dozen two litre bottles of water at his feet. Most of one of them was already being heated in the kettle in the main room, whilst Richard hung around in the bathroom doorway, watching curiously whilst Paul stripped off his shirt, revealing an expanse of pale skin and tattoos. 

Paul grinned at Richard in the mirror, when he saw the way that the other man was greedily eying him, appreciative stare and smile easily caught and trapped in the mirror’s reflection. Richard didn’t seem bothered by Paul knowing that he was being machined; instead, his lustful gaze traveled down lower to the curve of Paul’s ass, delineated by a pair of tight trousers, revealed now that his shirt had been stripped away. 

“Kettle’s ready,” Paul said. “We don’t want it boiling, don’t forget.”

Richard grunted, too distracted by Paul himself to pay much attention to the water. Even so, he moved reluctantly away from the door, to switch the kettle off and to carry it back into the room. Paul poured the resultant water into the basin and Richard had to refill the kettle twice before Paul was satisfied that there was enough water in there to offer a halfway decent wash. 

Paul set to work ladling water over his head with a cup that they’d pilfered from Till, wetting his hair until the strands were plastered flat against his scalp. Paul then set to work, expertly shampooing himself before ladling more water over his head. He ignored the fact that he managed to splatter the floor with soapy water in the process, sacrificing the hotel’s carpet for the sake of clean hair. He then ladled more water onto his torso and arms with his palms before he slicked himself up with soap and cleansed the whole lot off with more water. Whilst he was towelling himself dry, he grinned over at the still staring Richard in the doorway.

“See? See how easy it is?” he teased, even as Richard pouted at him. 

“I still don’t see how it can be a proper wash, Paul,” he pointed out.

“Well, under the circumstances, we don’t have much a of a choice, now, do we?” Paul gently reminded him. “You never know, perhaps the water pressure will be up again in the morning, then we can both have a real shower.” 

“Or we can share one,” Richard said, a sudden leer brightening his face. 

“Or there is that,” Paul agreed, with a leer of his own. “Now strip, Reesh. I want to see you naked at this sink.” 

“Or just plain naked, I know,” Richard said, his leer deepening. 

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Paul teased, even as he watched Richard slowly unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Of course. I’m irresistible,” Richard said, with a sudden dry snort and roll of his eyes at Paul. 

Paul merely hummed, knowing that he couldn’t argue with that. He watched as Richard replicated his earlier motions at the sink, hair soon plastered flat against his own scalp. Paul stepped forward once Richard was done, dry towel held between his hands; he stepped in close, and began to sweep the soft nap of the towel over Richard’s torso, wiping the wetness free from the other man’s skin. Richard smiled beneath Paul’s ministrations, yet didn’t stop him; instead, he left his hands dangling free by his sides, eyes partially closing as Paul steadily rubbed his way over Richard's abdomen. 

Richard made a pleased sound when Paul abandoned the now wet towel, and used his hand instead, sliding fingers and palm over the front of Richard's trousers, and the prominent bulge that he found there. Richard already was half hard by the time that Paul began palming him beneath the cover of his trousers. 

Paul left kisses against Richard’s shoulder, mouth leaving chuffing wet noises against now dry skin; he heard Richard sigh and felt the other man’s chest move against his own, skin warm where it met against his chest, as Richard’s hands moved to prop against Paul’s hips. Paul felt the first brush of Richard's thumbs against the naked patches of skin above his belt, describing caressing patterns against his flesh and raising goose-pimples in their wake. 

“Reesh,” Paul murmured against Richard's shoulder, before moving his lips and his kisses up to the other man’s throat.

Richard sighed and made another sound of appreciation yet that one was mangled with amusement that time, as one hand dipped down to cup against the swell of Paul’s butt. Paul murmured a pleased sound against Richard’s throat as his cock stirred into partially hard life. He transferred his mouth to Richard’s own, felt the other man return his kisses even as he settled closer to the warmth of Richard’s body. 

“Bed, now, Paulchen,” Richard sighed against Paul’s mouth.

Paul murmured back his incoherent assent, before he led the other man through to the bedroom, where they stripped off the rest of their clothing. Paul settled upon the bed, and watched with lightly veiled interest as Richard made his way confidently naked about the room, in his search for the lube. The small bottle was in Paul’s bag, scuffled beneath a pile of shirts, and Richard returned triumphantly holding it in one hand. Paul watched and didn't bother to hide his interest, as Richard uncapped the lube and squirted a liberal dose of it into the palm of his hand. Paul’s impatience began to grow and he shifted on the bed, legs now drawn up in preparation for the other man, soles pressed flat against the sheet-covered mattress. His impatience didn’t last long however; he was rewarded by the first press of Richard’s finger against his entrance. Paul hissed his way through first intrusion, eyes canting shut as his lips loosened into a deep groan of satisfaction when Richard began to prepare him, slowly, teasingly, another finger soon added to the first. 

Paul began to slowly stroke himself, moaning loudly when Richard began to quicken the pace, fingers soon replaced by the thicker feel of his cock pressing inward, body heavy against Paul’s own. Paul arched up against Richard's chest, with an aroused cry as Richard thrust fully inside him, hands clambering and scrabbling against Richard’s back, fingers pleading silently for more. Richard laughed against him and dotted light kisses against Paul’s face and lips before he began to move, hips rolling confidently against hips, hands digging greedily into willing flesh. 

Paul arched up into Richard every time that the other man drew away, aroused moans talking louder than words ever could of how much he wanted Richard; he pushed down on Richard’s ass with his hands, massaged him into encouraging him to go deeper. Richard complied breathlessly, every thrust harder, deeper, faster than the one before. Paul began stroking himself again, incoherent noises leaking past parted lips as he came closer to his time, and Richard's name was a loud burst of bright energy from his mouth when he spilled out over his hand and their abdomens. He still was touching himself, riding the last of his orgasm when Richard followed him under, Paul’s name nuzzled gently into the side of Paul's neck and repeated, repeated, repeated until it faded into a groan of completion. 

Paul lay sated, and weary when Richard finally eased away to lay beside him, one hand still resting possessively against the flat of Paul’s sticky stomach. Paul smiled at that, and at the way that Richard pressed a kiss against the tattoo on his shoulder. 

“Love you, Paulchen,” Richard muttered against his skin.

“Love you more, Reesh,” Paul murmured, drowsily. 

Richard’s laughter came easily against him yet the other man said no more. They lay in silence, as the clock on the wall ticked out the sated seconds into the silence. Richard moved, mattress dipping crazily beneath the transference of his weight as he looked up at the time. 

“Shit, Paul, we’ve gotta be onstage in a couple of hours. We’ve gotta get ready,” he said, as he scrambled out of bed.

Paul laughed, and still was laughing as he joined Richard in the bathroom, where both men jostled for room at the basin. Somehow, they managed to maneouvre their way awkwardly through another impromptu wash; still it was a rush for them to finish and dress in time, hands and fingers fumbling their way through recalcitrant clothing and impossible buttons, before they finally joined the rest of the band outside the hotel, to be transported to the gig on time.


End file.
